


Soft Winds of Death

by Bazylia_de_Grean



Series: The Sundered Oath [7]
Category: Pillars of Eternity
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-29
Updated: 2018-12-29
Packaged: 2019-09-28 19:38:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17189129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bazylia_de_Grean/pseuds/Bazylia_de_Grean
Summary: He will be gone soon. Many years from now, but only a blink of an eye for her, an elf. And that terrifies her.Leaving people behind – that, she is fine with. But losing people, being left alone – she has been there once, and she will not be able to survive it again.





	Soft Winds of Death

Maybe it is because she sees him in daylight so rarely – he is usually busy during daytime, so they meet by fire- and candlelight, or use magic adra lamps, and in the morning he is always up before she wakes. But today all he has to do is read a little and write some letters, and that is why there are both in her room even though it is barely noon.

Sabela watches as Thaos’ hand moves across the parchment – a scholar’s hand, elegant and narrow for a man’s – less smooth than she imagines it should be. Somehow, all the signs have escaped her attention, but suddenly she notices it all: white threads in his hair; the cobwebs of wrinkles at the corners of his eyes; the lines on his forehead and between his eyebrows, sculpted by too much frowning.

She recalls a clear day back in Vailia; the gut-clenching, overwhelming anxiety as her feet carried her forward, closer and closer; birds chirping, the scent of flowers… The wind carrying the suffocating stench of burning. The pile of charred rubble that used to be her family house. Black burnt wood, smudges of grey dust on the singed stones. Ash, so pale it seemed white, rising around her and falling down softly like snow as she walked across the ruins.

Now she can see the same colours in Thaos’ hair; her stomach twists into a tight knot and she turns away from him, suddenly sick. Sabela recalls that terrible feeling of guilt that she came too late, that there was nothing to be done, that she _missed_ the moment when she could have… It is exactly the same now.

He was no longer young when she met him again, but for some reason – maybe recalling their first meeting from her adolescence, maybe knowing of his many lifetimes – she easily forgot how quickly folk age. And now, having noticed that he has aged visibly, she is back to that day, to that place where she feels she missed the opportunity to react, to stop it, to do _something_ ; that it is too late, that she failed somehow, that…

He will be gone soon. Many years from now, but only a blink of an eye for her, an elf. And that terrifies her.

Leaving people behind – that, she is fine with. But losing people, being left alone – she has been there once, and she will not be able to survive it again. She recalls the sudden, staggering loss; looks down at her empty, trembling hands and wonders how it is possible that everything is slipping through her fingers _again_ – and she can only watch, powerless. She cannot bear it. She _cannot_ …

“What is wrong?” Thaos’ voice shatters the memories as if they were nothing but brittle glass, and that is even worse; the splinters get under her eyelids.

“Life,” she replies, wrapping her arms around herself. She cannot focus on anything but how one day – too soon – she will wake up and he will simply _not be there_.

“Who would have thought…” It is evident from his tone that he is smiling. “Are you going to miss me?”

“No,” Sabela replies without hesitation, determined.

Not _him_ , not as such. His – _someone’s_ – presence, company – yes. His thoughtful, too honest observations, always on-point. His wits and clever remarks and sense of humour – what is left of it. Even his patronising smiles.

The secrets and knowledge they share, and everything he holds back; all that makes him still shrouded in mystery even though they have been together for years. His hands when he does magic.

His hands when he touches her. His kisses. The way he will never make love to her – is it possible to miss something that has never happened and never would? But she does.

His voice; oh, gods, his voice when he whispers to her… All the endearments which are never _that_ beautiful, but she would rather take genuine semi-precious stones over fake gems.

The look in his eyes when he thinks of Woedica, just before he notices that she is watching him, the one that makes her choke on envy. His silence when he gives her time to calm down, bow her head and apologize to their Queen.

Many things. Not _him_.

“Your mind is a work of art,” Thaos remarks. “Is it common for Vailians to be such experts in lying?”

Sabela straightens. “I had an excellent teacher,” she replies, turning towards him to meet his gaze, “ _Maestre_.”

“Yes, you did. And it wasn’t me.” He gets up and walks over to her. “Are you going to tell me what is it?”

Sabela ponders over the answer. Thaos must know – he knows what happened to her family – there have been moments when she wondered if he had been the one who ordered it – and he surely guesses she has been thinking of the past. But speaking of it… She does not want him to see her cry, to see her so vulnerable. Silly, foolish, when he can simply read her soul – but that is no reason to simply show it all on her face, is it? She is a lady, after all.

“I don’t want to be alone when you die,” she says finally, pouting.

His eyebrows arch. “What brought this on?”

“Life,” she repeats, gritting her teeth. “Is that supposed to be the reward for my faithful service?” Better if he thinks her a spoiled child, better if he sees her anger; better if she turns her hopeless wrath against Woedica than if she was to wallow in grief again. “I deserve better than…”

“Ah.” He gently tilts her face up, towards his. “It’s not about Woedica, is it?”

She looks at him defiantly. “Are you accusing me of lying, again?”

Thaos’ palm moves up, fingertips stroking her cheek, and she freezes. “You are scared of losing me.”

She abruptly turns her head to the side, jerking away from his touch. “It’s not about you!”

“No, it’s not,” he agrees calmly. “It’s about your past. I’m the last thread connecting you to it, is that what this is about? Are you afraid you’ll lose it when I’m gone?”

Sabela closes her eyes, taking a deep breath. “I have already lost it.”

“As long as you remember, you haven’t,” he says gently, and this unexpected kindness makes her unravel at the seams. “Woedica was in your life long before you met me. She will help you never to forget.” He touches her face again, and something in her cracks.

“Hasn’t Woedica tested me enough already?!” Sabela pushes his hand away. “My father betrayed her trust, but he’d served faithfully for years, and what did he get for that?”

“A warning,” Thaos says evenly as his eyes narrow. “A warning he did not heed.”

“He wasn’t given enough time!”

“Wasn’t he?” Thaos’ gaze turns cold. “He was given years to change his mind and stop abusing the power he had been trusted with for personal gain. Years before I came; years when he kept thinking I wouldn’t notice and Woedica would forgive. Perhaps she would have. Earlier.”

“Then why did you come at all?”

“Because he’d served faithfully for years. Because his family remained loyal.”

“ _That_ was Woedica’s reward? That I had to watch it all? _This_ is what I get for serving her for my whole life? What…” she breaks off mid-sentence when he covers her mouth with his palm.

“Do not blaspheme.” He meets her defiant gaze. “That _is_ how Woedica thinks of it, I assure you,” he adds, withdrawing his hand.

Sabela shakes her head, her palms clenching into fists. She made peace with Woedica’s judgement – as much as she could – long ago, learnt her lesson, and has never let anyone close again. But now that she has been with Thaos for years, she does not want to… Her eyes sting and she blinks.

“I have followed your orders for years,” she spits. “And this is your gratitude? How _dare_ you…”

Thaos puts his hand on the back of her head and kisses her. Sabela knows he is doing it to make her go quiet, to stop her from saying something she would regret later, and she is still mad at him – at herself, for letting that inevitable future scare her so much – but this is a treat she cannot refuse herself. She grasps at his hair, pulls him _closer_ and kisses him back deeply, with the thirst born of desperation. Her fingers tighten around the strands of his hair so much it must be uncomfortable, but maybe if she holds onto him with enough force he will stay.

He lets her; gives her what she wants and then more. His hands slide down onto her hips and her back hits the wall; Sabela just wraps her arms around his neck as his mouth catches her quiet gasp. It turns into a sigh when his kiss softens, and her throat constricts.

No, no; she is not going to let him make her cry, she is not going to let him make her dissolve. She wants passion, not gentleness; to forget herself and him and everything, not to focus on them.

Sabela bites his lip; Thaos hisses and pulls away. He looks into her eyes, and after a moment she turns her head to the side, pressing her eyelids together. It is of no use, not when he can sense her emotions and read her mind – but then he should know why she _cannot_.

His hair tickles her cheek when he leans in and brushes a kiss against her neck. Then his lips trail down her skin; unhurried, open-mouthed kisses that make her melt against him; she wants to push him away, but then his hand slips beneath her skirts and she clings to him instead.

She loves his hands. His mouth, still eloquent when he is not using words. She loves…

Thaos kisses a path across her collarbones, then past the low neckline of her dress, briefly straying towards her heart. He slides down to the floor – to his knees – his lips following the embroidery down over her stomach as his hands lift her skirts.

Sabela gasps, grasping at his hair as she curls forward, holding onto him – holding him to her – shocked into silence. She never thought his words were more than teasing, a jest; a retaliation for her impudence. They kept her from sleep for more than one night, but she never considered he would kneel to… anyone but Woedica…

Her hand slips and finds purchase on his shoulder; her fingers and nails dig into his robe. She cannot breathe, she cannot stand upright. She bends, crumbles, falls into herself, drowning in feelings, choking on them until there are tears in her eyes. She can no longer lie. To herself; Thaos was never fooled.

“Don’t…” she wails, shaking. “Don’t leave me…” And then she breaks, tears flowing freely as she sobs into his hair.

Thaos holds her, helps her lean against the wall, then half-carries her to the bed. When she presses her face against a pillow, he sits beside her, stroking her hair and back until she stops trembling. Then he gets up, returning a moment later with a cup of wine.

Sabela is aware than she must be looking awful, that she made a fool of herself… But she is too miserable to care. He made her face her worst fear, and she hates him for it. He was there with her, supporting her instead of leaving her alone, and she loves him for it. That is why she is so afraid, that is why it hurts so much – because she loves him.

“Sabela,” he says softly, putting the cup on the bedside table.

“I will never forgive you,” she whispers, having no energy for anger or arguments. She _knew_ , she was aware enough to never want to name her feelings. And he forced her to admit them. “Never.”

Thaos sits down beside her, leaning against the headboard. “I hoped so,” he answers calmly.

“You little…” She lifts her hand to slap him, but he catches her wrist. Of course. He did it on purpose. He rarely does anything without reason. “I hate you,” she mutters as her hand goes slack in his hold.

“That’s fine.” He gently pulls her into his lap, and she does not protest. “I never doubted the power of your spite,” he adds with a brief smile.

Yes; is anything can make her keep herself together, spite can do that. Ah, yes; she will be able to go to great lengths to show him that she can be fine without him, to be able to say ‘I told you so’ when he returns. She is still scared and sad, but beneath that there are solid foundations of her stubbornness, contrariness, her need to prove she is right and she has the upper hand.

Sabela leans against him, hands on his shoulders, their faces so close she can smell herbs on his breath. “How much longer?” she asks quietly.

“Oh, enough for you to tire of me. Twenty years at least, I presume,” he adds when she frowns. “Perhaps more.”

They have only been together for _a while_. What he speaks of will merely be another. So little. She is not ready. She will not be ready in twenty years. She will never be ready for more people leaving her.

“I will return in another two decades after that.”

That does not seems so daunting when counted in years, not in emotions. Still, forty years is a period noticeable even for elves, and…

“I will be old by then,” Sabela whines. She is still feeling miserable, and if she cannot make the world suffer with her, she wants at least Thaos to experience that. Just a little.

“Sabela.” Thaos sighs in such exasperation she is sure he would roll his eyes, were he another. “That’s called _middle age_.”

“That’s what I’m talking about.” She points at him, poking his chest with her index finger. “ _Old_.”

“Now you just want to be annoying for the sake of it, don’t you?”

“No,” she protests, pursing her lips. “I’m just feeling awful and I want to share. Couples should do that.”

He laughs quietly, the sound trickling down her spine in a pleasant shiver. “Yes, that’s what I thought.”

They stay like that for a while; he lets her cling to him, his warm palms on the small of her back; lets her take solace in his closeness, without comforting her and making it look like pity. Sabela appreciates that. He knows how to play her, but for once he uses that knowledge for her wellbeing, and she is grateful.

She sighs, burying her fingers in his hair. “Can we…”

“Why do you think we’re still here, _vulpinet_?”

This name, right now, reminds her of her best and worst memories, of her greatest fear… But this time, she begrudgingly accepts it. No fighting, no crying. Just quiet tears, prickling at her eyes again.

“Please, don’t…”

Thaos kisses her, and she kisses him back, shifting closer. She cannot get close enough. She never will. That will not stop her from trying.

He smiles against her mouth. “You never give up.”

Her laughter is a little shaky. “Not when I can help it.” Right now, she cannot. Sabela wants him to make love to her, for once, like he used to when she sang to him about Woedica, but he never will and there is nothing she can do, and she refuses to beg. There is no point in asking, either; he could pretend, he could lie to her well enough to make her believe it today, but she does not want his sympathy and is glad that he has so little of it to offer.

Oh, yes, he does care – in a way – and he likes her, enjoys her company. Maybe even desires her sometimes – but none of those is love, even if his embrace is trying to convince her otherwise. Unless… Perhaps…

She starts humming a quiet melody, the one she composed once when falling asleep beside him; a little thing, weaved of the scent of incense and her perfumes – rose and fruit. A strange mix; heady enough to get drunk on it. That must have been what happened; this must be why she is feeling so lightheaded now.

Thaos looks into her eyes, reading her thoughts without effort. And then he answers – without words, with just a brief nod. With a cipher, there is no need to ask.

It is not as overwhelming as she would like, as she remembers. But this evening is for her, only for her, and Sabela finds that even though it is not all she wants, perhaps it can still be enough.


End file.
